Lost Children of Westeros
by AuroreMartell
Summary: We hear the stories of children in ASOIAF. We know the tales of the Stark children, because they are the ones we read about. But there are other children, too. And they are being hunted. Modern/AU oneshot. Might be continued.


It is easier for all of them to sleep next to each other, almost in a pile. Not only does it provide more heat for their small bodies, but it gives each of these tiny fighters a sense of security and camaraderie.

Lyanna Mormont's hand is draped over her gun, even now, as she drifts off to sleep. Safer that way, she's learned. Much safer than having your gun on the ground, where you have to grope for it in the dark if anyone wants to attack you.

Clearly the girl next to Lyanna hasn't been with them long enough to get that. Her own gun is loose by her body, and Lyanna has to tuck it into her palm as she sleeps. Lyanna hopes that if someone comes for them, the girl will be able to handle the gun.

It has been one whole week without the Lost Children of Westeros being found. Lyanna feels itchy, nervous, knowing that the longer they wait the higher the risk is to be caught. If caught, the Children here will be sent off. Some will go to jail, for stealing food. Some will be sent to the Lannister or Bolton army, depending on where you are found. The lucky ones will be killed like dogs. And the unlucky ones, well...

New York is like a cloak: expansive and billowing, bright and colorful and messy, but it serves it's purpose. It hides the group of young rebels that Lyanna belongs to, the Lost Children of Westeros. Founded by Rickon Stark, the most deserted, the angriest, the ruler and leader of New York's underground.

There are more Lost Children underground, hundreds and thousands, just like Lyanna. Ever since the start of the War (that's what the children call it, not knowing if there's a right word for it), more and more families began to leave their children. Did they leave their children from desperation, from necessity? Did they leave their children to go seek better things, leave them because they hated their children?

The Children who live underground, the ones who don't fight, they like conspiracy theories. One Child, no older than ten, had offered up, "Maybe our parents were scared of us."

The younger children love this idea, the idea that they are special, that they were abandoned because they are strong and powerful. Lyanna knows this is a lie, a flat dusty lie. _No one here is special, _she thinks. _We're just a mass of kids who have guns, not even teenagers, more like rats than humans._

Except for Rickon Stark, he was special all right.

Lyanna's been his right hand for ages, ever since they met. He may have been the one to found the Lost Children, back before his best friend Tommen was kidnapped, but Lyanna was the one to create it. And yes, Rickon is furious and violent and sometimes cruel and possibly insane, but he is special. To Lyanna, at least.

But that is a long story. The story of how Rickon Stark came to be so wild is one with lions and wolves and bears, oh my, and blood and murder. It is one Lyanna doesn't care to tell. Not in the dark, at least.

"Hey," whispers Rickon from above her, and Lyanna stops pretending to sleep. He's beckoning to her, and heaves herself off the ground. They sleep in a sewer with tall ceilings, not the best place to raise children, but it serves. As long as there is ample food, no one complains. (And there is plenty of food. If there's one thing all the Lost Children like, it's stealing.)

"Stark," she replies sleepily. "What's up?"

"We found someone to take in." Rickon isn't looking directly at her, he never is. It is for the best, really. His eyes are so cold that one glance could turn Lyanna into ice. "Her name's Shireen Baratheon. With her is a boy, maybe a bit older than she is."

A rescue. Lyanna hasn't rescued anyone in weeks. Rescues are dangerous, it means going out of the sewers into the day and trying to bring another human home without getting caught. "Where is she?"

"Somewhere on the shoreline. She says it's a vacation home or something," says Rickon, his voice detached. "The Red Lady is after her."

"God." Lyanna's heard a few things about this Red Lady, mainly that she uses her witchcraft to kill little children, especially the ones left behind. The rumors aren't as bad as the pictures that Rickon sometimes receives, with the tiny charred bodies and blood smeared into religious patterns in the grass. "Who's the boy with her? A boyfriend?"

"She hasn't said. Could be."

It strikes Lyanna as strange, how she considers Rickon Stark to be her best friend, when he scarcely ever talks to her in a voice warmer than snow. He's from the North, where some say emotions freeze. "How long of a journey'll it take?"

"Coupla weeks, I don't know."

"You're not-" Lyanna pauses. "You're taking me, right?"

"Of course," he says, not unkindly, which warms her. "You, me, and all the Sand Snakes we've got. Loreza Sand's dying to go and I think we should take her, she's getting good at using a handgun. Willow Heddle, too. And Eleyna Westerling should be taken, we need someone to be our pickpocketer."

Lyanna waits. "All girls."

"Yeah." Rickon shoves a hand into his pocket and leans against the wall, looking every bit the teenage rebel he is. Lyanna knows the girls think he's gorgeous, which she can't exactly argue with, but he's so... angry. Even if he doesn't show it all the time. Even if he holds it inside.

She can't quite figure out what he's thinking. His eyes are stormy, as always, and guarded by the long fringe of uncut curly hair. "Stannis Seaworth is good with a knife. And Robin Ar-"

"What, Lyanna? You want to take over now?" It's like a switch has been flipped: his eyes have gone from detached ice to burning heat, and his mouth tightens into an angry line, his teeth baring. "I control the rescues! You know that! They're mine!"

Lyanna stumbles as she steps back, hoping this fit will blow over. "Hey. I'm just saying that keeping any guys out of the rescue might be a little-"

"No! You're not saying anything!" He's close to screaming now, and Lyanna feels the pulse of almost maternal worry twisting in her stomach. "You're not! This is my mission and YOU DON'T CONTROL ME!"

"I'm not trying to, Rickon, please look at me okay?" Lyanna grabs his hands, pulls him closer so his eyes can meet hers. She's done this a million times before. Lyanna feels as though she has played the part of Rickon Stark's informed lieutenant, the part of his best friend, his dutiful soldier, his maid, and even his mother.

All the younger Lost Children have always asked her if she was dating Rickon, and yet Lyanna found she could never answer them. She's not sure how to define love exactly. What Lyanna has with the tormented Rickon Stark is attachment, in the purest sense. Attraction? She doesn't know.

"YOU DON'T _TOUCH_ ME!" rages Rickon, his body wrenching until his eyes lift to hers. Some of the Children are stirring drowsily, and Lyanna jerks her chin at them to signal 'get back to sleep.' "You don't, no, you can't touch me, no..."

It takes time, and a strong grip, but Rickon slowly begins to come out of his fury trance.

"Okay." Lyanna leans back, hands unwrapping from his. "Tell me you're better now, Rickon."

He scowls at the ground. "I'm better now, Lyanna."

"Yeah." She is older than he and they are so close that she could nearly pat his hair, or hug and kiss him, to calm him down. Lyanna nearly laughs at the idea. _Attachment, attraction, affection, _she thinks wryly, and feels like crying for no reason.

"We'll take the Seaworth boys," he offers quietly.

"Thank you."

Lyanna watches Rickon leave her, with the squeeze of sadness in her stomach. Out of nowhere she realizes that she's never seen Rickon Stark be physically affectionate with anyone, and it makes her more sad than she would expect.

_Attachment, attraction, affection, and_ attenuation, Lyanna reminds herself firmly. She pulls her gun out and begins to wake up the little Sand Snakes.


End file.
